


Death's Row

by Razorbolt



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Autobots - Freeform, Decepticons - Freeform, Imprisonment, fight to the death, lost war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9188792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razorbolt/pseuds/Razorbolt
Summary: The Decepticons have won the war and the Autobots captured. slavery isn't wait awaits them though. Death does, in the form of a friend. Two go in but one comes out. how do you endure the pain of killing your own comrades while locked away in the dark?





	

We sit in silence. Only the noise of death can be heard around us, making us tremor with fear. Questions fill everyone's minds, I can see it in their optics, they want to know who is next for the torturous games they play with us. I can tell the fight in the arena has ended now, that another one of us was dead. The crowd is cheering. Who wasn't coming back this time? Who will I never have the opportunity to speak to or see ever again? Grief washes over me, last time it was Jazz who didn't return from the arena, bright and happy Jazz who kept up our hopes about a way out even though we all knew we will die in front of thousands.

The door holding us in the tiny cavern allocated to us opens. I can't bear to look despite my burning curiosity to see who survived. No matter what way you look at it, one still died. I can hear the mech sobbing but no one moves to help him. We move, we die. It's funny really, we prided ourselves on morals and a passion for helping the weak and yet we don't even make the slightest twitch to comfort a fellow comrade- prisoner. I hear the mech pull himself off the floor a slump into the cold bench that now held one less Autobot on it. It's only now I look to see who the unfortunate mech is. He is so mutilated and disfigured I can hardly tell who it is at first but by some grace of Primus, a small part of him still remains identifiable. Sunstreaker. He was sitting next to his brother weeping, his one remaining helm fin looked viciously torn at and painful, his once bright and vibrant paint now nothing but flakes covered in grime and blood. No one came to clean us; no one came to fix us. They only came to tell us it's our turn to enter the pit, that's its our turn to die. I remember the last battle I had, it was so long ago now but it still burns in my memory like new. I killed my own brother. My own little brother who loved me so much. I broke his spark then ripped it out. I haven't been pitted against anyone since, maybe they think I'm too unstable, or just keeping me fresh until there are only two of us left. Maybe saving me for Optimus- if he's still alive that is. More grief and sorrow hit me at the thought of my former leader. None of us knew his fate; we all hope he is dead, so he didn't have to see his Autobots tearing each other apart.

The door opens again and I turn off my optics. This was always the worst bit, the bit where they drag the remains of the less successful competitor past us and down the little corridor none of us dare go down. Death awaits us wherever we go. I can hear the sounds of a corpse being pulled along the gritty floor, the metal screeching in protest to the rough treatment. It's not a way Tracks would want to be treated, the way he would want to die. Sunstreaker's choked sobs get louder; he obviously saw the body of the mech he killed. A guard comes in through the small corridor that Tracks just made his final journey down. In his hand is the black, opaque orb that decides who dies. The guard gives us a sick grin before pushing his hand through the liquid surface of the ball and pulling out two chips of metal. I feel the need to pray to Primus, like I do every time the names are selected. It's stupid really, if Primus were out there, he would have stopped us being treated this way. The sickening feel of worry hit me; the mech with the orb was staring at me, his gruesome red optics shining.

"Prisoner 2109 'Prowl' and Prisoner 0104 'Wheeljack'" he calls out. I look down at my hands, they were already so stained with blood and regret, and I did not wish to add more to it. I gaze over to my opponent; he lost his mind a while ago and only stares off into the distance with dull optics. He wasn't in there anymore. He died a long time ago. I stand and head over to the guard, I push through the mechs who waited on death's row and stepped up to claim my chip. I study the sliver, my number engraved into it like a brand. I'm so thankful I can keep my name and that I'm not reduced to a number. It gives me something normal to focus on and forget the pain that awaits me in the arena.

At last the door springs open and I step into the light. The crowd cheers and chants my name, it's nice to know I have fans. I feel the presence of a bot behind me and I turn to face my rival. His pleading optics cut right into mine and I understand what he wants of me. I cast a gaze around the blooded ground; weapons lay littered at my feet. I pick up the closest one and see it's a sword covered in old, sticky energon. You would think they would look after the weapons better than this. I step up to the insane Autobot and I start to shake. Here I am, about to kill someone I considered a friend because we lost the war. I make my optics go dark and swing the blade. I shudder as it slices through metal and major tubes and wires. The sword was dirty but it was sharp. A soft thud tells me my fellow wingletted mech is dead. I just look for a moment, just to check he was finally free of the tortures I was still held captive in. The crowd remain quiet, each of them staring at me and my sword, for show I hold it over my head and drop it down into the slick metal floor. The cavern door slides open again and I stumble towards it. My body feels numb and cold like it was me that died, like I was the greying corpse outside being gawked at by Decepticons.

I start to tremor violently inside the cavern as my victim is dragged past. I watch the dirty, white paint slip away forever and gaze down at my own white paint. It is so grimy and stained it looks black. I sigh. Nothing much left for us remaining Autobots; we're stuck until we all kill each other or the unlikely event of a rescue or escape.

I will just have to endure the pain until then.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoy this, one I wrote a while back now. The identity of the mech is meant to be unknown but you can give it a guess, its 50/50 after all!!!


End file.
